By Conduct and Courage: A Story of the Days of Nelson

“I want to put my man into plain clothes while he is with me in town,” Will said to the shopman.

“Yes, sir. What sort of clothes?”

“Oh, just private clothes, such as a valet might wear when out of livery!”

Lucien was soon rigged out in a suit of quiet but respectable garments, and, putting his sailor suit into his bag, they went on. They looked about for a considerable time before they found a suitable lodging, but at last they came upon a French hotel. Entering, Will asked in French for two rooms. They were at once accommodated, and after washing and dressing they went down to the coffee-room, where several French gentlemen were breakfasting. It had been arranged that Will should say that they were two emigrants who had just effected their escape from France.

The next day they took the coach to Weymouth, the port from which at that time communication was kept open with France by means of smugglers and men who made a business of aiding the French emigrants who wanted to escape, or the Royalists who went backwards and forwards trying to get up a movement against the Republic. On making enquiries they heard of a man who had a very fast little vessel, and they at once looked him up. “This gentleman wants to go across,”Will said. “What would you do it for?”

“It depends whether he will wait till I get some more passengers or not.”

“He is pressed for time,” Will said; “what will you run him over for alone?”

“Fifty pounds,” the man said. Will thought it advisable not to appear to jump at the offer.

“That is rather stiff,” he said; “I should think thirty-five would be ample.”

“It seems a good sum,” the man said; “but you see there are dangers. I might be overhauled by a British cruiser.”

“You might,” Will said; “but when they learned your business they would not interfere with you.”

“Then there are the port authorities,” the man said.

“Yes, but a few francs would prevent them from asking inconvenient questions. Besides, my friend is not a royalist, he is only going over to see his friends.”

“Well, we will say thirty-five,” the man said with a smile.“When will you want to start?”

“He doesn’t care whether he sails this evening or to-morrow morning.”

“Well, we will say to-morrow morning at daybreak.”

“Where will you land him?”

“At Cherbourg or one of the villages near; most likely at Cherbourg if the coast is clear, for I have friends there who work with me.”

They went to an hotel for the night. In the morning Will gave Lucien a small package containing a very handsome gold watch and chain which he had bought in London.

“Give this to Marie from me,” he said; “I promised that she should have one for her wedding-day. Here are a thousand francs of French money, which will carry you comfortably from Cherbourg to Verdun and give you a bit of a start there. No, you need not refuse it, I am a rich man, and can afford it without in the least hurting myself. Give my love to Marie,” he said, “and tell her that I shall never forget her kindness.”

Lucien was profuse in his gratitude, but Will cut him short by hurrying him down to the boat, which was lying at the quay with her sails already hoisted. Will watched the boat till it was well out to sea, and then took the next coach back to London, filled with pleasure that he had been able to carry out his plan and to repay the kindness that Marie had shown him.

He had given Lucien the address of his London agent, so that on his arrival at Verdun he could write him a letter saying how he had fared, and when he and Marie were to be married. This letter he received on his return from the next cruise. It contained the warmest thanks of Marie and her lover, and the information that they were to be married the following week, and that the young man had an offer of good employment in the town.

When he reached London, Will obtained the address of a respectable solicitor, and called upon him to ask his advice as to advertising to try to discover a family bearing the arms on his seal.

“I should advise you,” the lawyer said, “to leave the matter until you return from sea again. Questions of this sort always require a good deal of time to answer. You would have to be present to give information, and when the matter is taken up it should be pressed through vigorously. Of course there would be difficulties to face. The mere fact of this seal being in the possession of your father, that is, if he was your father, would not be sufficient to prove his identity, and there would be all sorts of investigations to make, which would, of course, take time. If you will leave the matter in my hands I will cause enquiries to be made as to the arms. That will probably only take a day or two, and it would perhaps be a satisfaction to you to know the family with which you might be connected. It will be in the subsequent steps that delays will occur.”

“Thank you, sir! I should certainly like to know, though I quite see that, as you say, it will be very difficult for me to establish my connection.”

The lawyer then took down what particulars Will could give him of his early history. When he returned a week later the lawyer gave him a cordial reception.

“I congratulate you, Mr. Gilmore,” he said. “The head of the family carrying those arms is Sir Ralph Gilmore, one of our oldest baronets. He has no male issue. He had one son who died six years ago. There was another son, a younger one, of whom there is no record. He may be alive and he may be dead; that is not known. It is, of course, possible that you were stolen as a child by your reputed father, and that he gave you the family name in order that when the time came he could produce you, but of course that is all guesswork. When you return from sea again I will set people to work to trace, if possible, the wanderings of this person; but as I said, this will take time, and as you will be going to sea in a fortnight the matter can very well stand over. So long as you are on board a ship your parentage can make very little difference to you.”

Will had still a fortnight of his leave remaining. He wandered about London for a couple of days, but he found it rather dull now that he had finished his business, as he had no friends in town. On the second day he was walking along one of the fashionable streets of Bloomsbury, considering whether he should not go down by the next coach to Portsmouth, where he was sure of meeting friends, when a carriage passed him, drawn by a pair of fine horses. A young lady who was sitting in it happened to notice him. She glanced at him carelessly at first, and then with great interest. She stopped the carriage before it had gone many yards, and when Will came up, looked at him closely. “Excuse me, sir,” she said as he was passing; “but are you not Mr. Gilmore?” Greatly surprised he replied in the affirmative.

“I thought so!” she exclaimed. “Do you not remember me?”

He looked at her hard. “Why – why,” he hesitated,“surely it is not – ”

“But it is!” she cried. “I am Alice Palethorpe!”

“Miss Palethorpe!” he exclaimed, grasping the hand she held out. “Is it possible?”

“Not Miss Palethorpe,” she said. “To you I am Alice, as I was nearly four years ago. Get into the carriage. My father will be delighted to see you. We have talked of you so often. He made enquiries at the Admiralty when he came home, but found that you were a prisoner in France, and he has been trying to get your name down in the list of those to be exchanged, but he had so little interest that he could not succeed, and, indeed, for the past two years no exchange had taken place.”

By this time he was in the carriage, and they were driving rapidly along the busy streets. Presently they stopped before a large house in Bedford Square.

“This is our home, for the present at any rate,” she said.“Now come in.”

She ran upstairs before him and signed to him to wait at the top. “Father,” she said, bursting into a room, “I have taken a captive; someone you certainly don’t expect to see. Now, you must guess.”

“How can I, my dear, when you say I don’t expect to see him? Is it – ?” and he mentioned five or six of his friends in Jamaica, any of whom might be returning.

“No, father. You are out altogether.”

“Then I give it up, Alice.”

“It is Will,” she said.

Will heard him spring to his feet and hurry to the door.

“My dear young friend!” he exclaimed. “At least I suppose it is you, for you have grown out of all recognition.”

“Ah, father!” the girl broke in. “You see, he hadn’t changed so much as to deceive me. I felt sure of him the moment I set eyes upon him.”

“Well, then, your eyes do you credit,” her father said.“Certainly I should not have recognized him. He has grown from a lad into a man since we saw him last. He has widened out tremendously. He was rather one of the lean kind at that time.”

“Oh, father, how can you say so? I consider that he was just right.”

“Yes, my dear, I quite understand that. At that time he was perfect in your eyes, but for all that he was lean.”

“You are quite right, sir, I was, and I really wonder that I have put on flesh so much. The diet of a French prisoner is not calculated to promote stoutness. But your daughter was not only sharper-sighted than you, but even than myself. Till she spoke to me I had not an idea who she was. I saw that she thought she recognized me, but I was afraid it would be rude on my part to look at her closely. Of course now I do see the likeness to the Alice I knew, but she has changed far more than I have. She was a little girl of fourteen then, very pretty, certainly, I thought, but still quite a girl – ” and he stopped.

“Now, you mean that I have grown into a young woman, and have lost my prettiness?”

“I think your looking-glass tells you another story,” he laughed. “If it doesn’t, it must be a very bad one.”

“Well, now, do sit down,” her father said. “You must have an immense deal to tell us.”